


Perfect

by luvkurai



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anilingus, Inability to Consent, M/M, Public Sex, Rimming, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 05:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvkurai/pseuds/luvkurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Always eager, </em> Hannibal muses. <em>Even when terrified of being watched. </em></p><p>Hannibal eats out slave!Will to entertain his dinner guests.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an Anon's [prompt](http://luvkurai.tumblr.com/post/52365784197/prompt-1) while I was celebrating 200+ tumblr followers. I hope you enjoy, darling!

The wine is chilled, the broccilini is moderately crunchy, the vinaigrette is bittersweet and the meat is crunchy on the outside, rare and flavorful on the inside. _Perfect,_ Hannibal Lecter muses from the head of the table, running his fingers through curly brown locks. The group (made up of about a dozen guests) is in the middle of discussing the development of opera since its resurgence in the 1980s, when Madame Avril, one of Hannibal’s more regular guests, interrupts the conversation with an appeal.

“Is there to be a show, following dinner, Dr. Lecter?” She intones. She looks narrowly at his Will, kneeling on the floor beside him. There is no question, by anyone at the table, what sort of _show_ she means.

Hannibal, the master of the house himself, hums. Considers. Even as he feels the somewhat hopeful eyes of his guests on him, he looks down at Will, circling his thumb at the base of the boy’s neck thoughtfully. “Would you like that, William?”

Will is tense, as expected, keeping his eyes fixed on Hannibal’s lap, but still he quickly replies, “If it…if it pleases Master.”

Too diplomatic an answer, for a slave. But Hannibal has always known Will is by no means an ordinary owned man—he has intelligence that Hannibal would not attribute to most ordinary people. He has had other slaves, in the past, but they all proved to be terrible disappointments. Ultimately, Hannibal was forced to sell them or dispose of them by _other_ means. He is well aware that what he demands of his slave—perfection—is more than usual, but he sees no reason to bend.

Will is the only one to come close, but Hannibal has learned to appreciate the boy’s few imperfections. Now finds them charming and idiosyncratic.

Hannibal allows his eyes to trail downwards, over Will’s leather collar—decorated with a silver tag with an elegantly engraved _HL_ —and down his bare chest. Finally he speaks, “Yes. Yes, it would please me.”

Madame Avril gives a courteous little _bravado_ clap to express her pleasure and the group returns to their meal and their discussion. Hannibal pretends not to notice Will’s grip, on the fabric of his trousers, tighten. He prefers the boy a bit frightened, whenever possible.

After the meal, Hannibal asks his guests to leave their dishes on the table—Will can clean them up later in the evening. He leads the way up the stairs, with a hand on Will’s lower back to keep him steady. The raised pulse, the shallow breaths, do not escape his notice. At the door to the Play Room, Hannibal begs the pardon of his guests, for them to wait in the hall while he prepares William. He and Will step inside alone.

Hannibal refers to the room as his Play Room, albeit only silently, as such a term weighs gaudy on the tongue, but it doesn’t resemble similarly-named rooms existing in other homes even in the slightest. The walls are painted subtle, tasteful red, the same color as his office, and all the ‘toys’ are hidden in drawers and cabinets, rather than overtly displayed to panic the slave and excite the guests. In the center of the room is a bed, made from mahogany and lined in silver paint. It has no headboard. On either side of the bed is a long couch, both dressed in leather the same color as the white sheets.

He continues to ignore Will’s slightly more audible whimpering as he deposits the boy on the side of the bed closest to the door. From a hook beside the door, he retrieves a long leather cord. Behind Will, he pulls his arms behind his back so they strain and his fingertips press against the opposite elbow. He binds the boy with prudence, using the chord sparingly and only where it is needed—he appreciates the look of it draped across his bare back, when the rest of his body lay sprawled across the bed.

Hands run down Will’s sides, circling the flesh at his hips lightly before hooking into the tight black underwear that does little to cover him. Hannibal lowers the fabric to the floor and waits for Will to step out of it. His legs are juddering.

“Calm yourself, William,” Hannibal murmurs, testing the bonds carefully. The slave skews his head slightly, to look back at Hannibal’s lips. Never square in the face.

He is shaking, quivering. He whispers nervously, “Their eyes… _their eyes—_ ”

“Hush.” Hannibal cuts him off with a few fingers pressed against his mouth. He bends him forward, onto the mattress. Says, “Knees up,” and waits for him to obey before stirring him a bit towards the center of the bed. Once he approves of the position, he trails a finger down his spine, through the ridge between buttocks and over his puckered hole. Will keens. Pushes backwards into the touch.

“You will be good,” he says. It isn’t a question. “For me.”

Will rolls his shoulders as much as he can with his arms restrained and nods. “Yes, yes, Master.”

Hannibal leaves Will with his forehead digging into the mattress, his knees keeping his ass high in the air, and moves to open the door and usher his dinner guests into the room. They circle the room, some sitting upon couches and others opting to stand nearer William. All are courteous of their fellow visitors, taking care to not obstruct another’s view. He weaves between them, accepting compliments on the room’s décor and on William’s willingness to exhibit himself in such a fashion. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Will’s cock hanging heavy between his legs.

 _Always eager,_ Hannibal muses. _Even when terrified of being watched._

He selects a rod from a high drawer—thin and made of wicker—and flicks it against his palm thoughtfully. It isn’t made to hurt, not really, simply to startle Will, to sting and make a line of his flesh turn deliciously pink. Just to keep his boy in check, if necessary.

“Madame Avril,” Hannibal says. “This was as per your request. Is there anything you would like to see, specifically?”

“Anything, so long as you use that beautiful mouth of yours, Dr. Lecter.” She grins at Hannibal, teeth glinting whitely in the yellow lighting of the room. Flirtatious, almost to the point of rudeness, were she not obviously poking fun. Hannibal smiles back.

Such an entreat is easily met. “As you wish.”

Hannibal circles the bed with eyes on his boy. The room has gone silent, and it turns deafening when he kneels between Will’s parted legs and strokes the rod across his spine, calmly. Will pulls his muscles taught at the touch, now _very_ aware of his sizeable erection.

He is careful not to provide too much stimuli, as he leans forward to press the thumb of one hand against Will’s hole—the twitch of it against his limb is unmistakably beautiful, if only he could show _that_ to his guests—and two fingers of the other hand into Will’s mouth. He suckles at them, careful to not let saliva dribble down his chin. That would be unseemly.

Still, he is unable to control himself when Hannibal removes his fingers to press them wetly against his ass. A breathy whine breaks free from his throat, before he can think to qualm it; Hannibal brings the rod down on his shoulder. Is rewarded with a quick intake of breath, then utter silence. No exhalation.

The outbreath does not come until he pushes his knees closer to the edge of the bed and bends to brush his tongue across the quaking hole. He knows that Will already feels entirely centered on the highly concentrated nerve endings in such an erogenous zone. The build up will likely be just as splendid as the ultimate release. And just as entertaining for his guests. Madame Avril knows how to prompt an interesting night. William _does_ have experience with anilingus, but Hannibal will make sure to make it as agonizing for him as possible.

Hands spreading the fleshy cheeks apart, Hannibal first presses his lips there. In his peripheral vision he sees Will’s flexing fingers. His tongue flicks out again, swirling around the circle’s outer rim before plunging against the opening itself. Will’s toes curl.

“He’s so contained, Hannibal,” someone says. He’s too focused on Will to listen (or care) for who the voice belongs to. When he feels it open, just so, he nips against the ridge of flesh and sucks. Will jerks forward and receives another swat, though his master is pleased with him keeping rather quiet, thus far.

Then he notices Will biting into the sheets, muffling his cries. Hannibal does not approve, desires his slave to quiet himself, and separates his mouth from Will to bring the rod down across his lower back. With his free hand, he grips Will’s hair and pulls back, so his neck stresses and his weight is instead supported by his shoulders and upper-chest. His face points forward, chin resting in a puddle of saliva left by his mewling mouth.

“ _Mmf!”_

The new position is apparently not comfortable for Will, so Hannibal takes it upon himself to speed up the process.

He returns to his hole and lets his teeth brush out against the hole. He whimpers, eyes scrunching and toes curling.

“What a beautiful sound,” Mr. Lawton, dressed in green and black, says. “Did he take long to train, Dr. Lecter?”

“Not too long, no. William is quite pliable.” The words are said against the puckered, twitching hole, so his hot breath can seep into his Will’s flesh. He’s close, Hannibal knows, by the twisting of his hips and the arching of his back. The knowledge makes blood rush in his veins, creates a heady arousal of his own. His own pleasure would have to wait—his guests did not visit to watch Hannibal relieve himself.

“ _Exquisite_ ,” another guest murmurs. Someone standing off to the right, that can see the curve of Will’s back. Hannibal briefly wishes to see himself and Will, the pair of them, through that man’s eyes, but then again, he has the best seat in the house.

Hannibal finally manages to press his tongue inside Will. His boy aches with the need to scream, this is all very nearly too much for him. Though the penetration is only shallow, the pressure of his teeth’s ridges is enough to make Will surge forward, then back.

To make him breath out a quiet, “Ah— _Master!”_ despite the fact he knows Hannibal does not commonly approve. But even he cannot bring himself to swat his boy, when he sees the white liquid splay out across Will’s chest and the bedding beneath him.

Hannibal is now _achingly hard_. Wonders how long it will take to clear the men and women visiting out so he can come back upstairs and fuck into Will’s still saliva-drenched hole.

When he stands, he pulls Will’s legs with him, so he collapses into his own seed on the bed in an exhausted heap. A few minutes would be more than enough time for him to recuperate before Hannibal commands him back up onto his knees to take his cock, long and hard.

A small number of the guests look flustered, no doubt looking forward to returning home to their own slaves, a few more look quite taken with William, and even more seem to be thoroughly entertained. Not a bad result. Hannibal gives his thanks to every compliment received with courtesy and haste, before leading the way back down the stairs. At the front door, he retrieves the coats for the men and places the coats of the women on their shoulders, ushering them one by one out of his home. Madame Avril is the last to go.

She looks pointedly at the apex of his thighs, where his cock still strains against his trousers. The others either did not notice or were unsurprised. Again, she is saved by how charming Hannibal finds her unabashed actions. If they belonged to another they would be inexcusable.

“He’s _perfect_ , Dr. Lecter. You _must_ let me borrow him sometime. Just for an evening.” Hannibal lets nothing show on his face, but she is already raising her arms in light-hearted defense, as if apologizing for a practical joke. “I kid. I wouldn’t _dream_ of snatching your William away from you.”

_Nor should you._

“Well, I won’t keep you from him, my friend.” She winks as she crosses the threshold. “Enjoy yourself.”

Hannibal smirks. “Good evening, Madame.”

_And I shall._

**Author's Note:**

> luvkurai.tumblr.com


End file.
